Domestic Bliss
by A. Farnese
Summary: Chapter 5- "Impractical Magic"- The rules of magic are never easy, especially when you're making them up as you go along. Modern AU, Merthur. No magic. Scenes and short stories from Merlin and Arthur's life together in London.
1. Coffee and Dragons

_A/N: After a month of writing about some incredibly dark themes during NaNoWriMo, I needed something cute and fun to counterbalance all the darkness. A big thanks to Staymagical for beta reading, and for the inspiration!_

 _Disclaimer:_ Merlin _and its characters do not belong to me. No money is being made from this._

1\. "Coffee and Dragons"- Merlin is finicky about his coffee, and Arthur is determined to get it right.

* * *

There was an art to making coffee. Arthur doubted that he had almost perfected it over the past few months. There was always some little thing that could be improved- the timing, the blend he used, the way he poured it into the cup. But aside from the minor flaws, he fancied that his coffee-making technique rivaled any barista's.

Of course Merlin didn't always agree. Self-described coffee snob that he was, he was in tune to every tiny variance in flavor, temperature, scent, and all the other things that contributed to a proper cup of coffee. He could go on at length, describing bloom and blend, and otherwise chattering about a thousand details that went right over Arthur's head.

Coffee was not Arthur's speciality. He drank it for the caffeine alone, and as long as it was hot he would slurp it down like water. Even if it was cold, enough sugar would hide a multitude of sins.

He was learning, though, and despite the fact that he still didn't understand why a person had to swish hot water around the French press before the grounds went in, it was part of the process. So he did it. Merlin was rubbing off on him in more ways than one. Arthur was starting to prefer his homemade coffee to the sludge they made at work. As high class as the office might be, it was still a couple of interns tossing cheap coffee into a machine and hitting 'start' in the morning. Nothing fancy there. No personal touch, and certainly not a hand-crafted brew from a French press.

Arthur sighed and glared at the coffee as he waited for the timer to go off so he could pour the finished product. There was nothing more irritating to a wealthy bloke than to be taught a lesson in the finer points of life by a poor kid from Nowhere, Wales. If it wasn't for the way Merlin's hair stuck up at all angles when he ran his hands through it, or the way he curled up in a corner of the couch, or the brilliant smile that shone on his face like sunshine after a rainy day, Arthur would have kicked him to the kerb in short order.

Granted, he'd go running after Merlin thirty seconds later to drag him back inside and apologize profusely by offering to find him the best coffee in London or giving him the best blow job in the history of ever. Or both.

"'s that for me?" A pair of arms snaked around Arthur's waist, hugging him tightly.

"No," Arthur shook his head and worked around Merlin to pour the coffee. "It's for my other boyfriend. The one who doesn't steal the covers at night, and gets up early to go jogging with me on Sunday mornings."

Merlin's grip on his waist tightened as he snuggled against Arthur's back. "He sounds boring. You should stick with me. Writers are always more interesting than that banker or whoever it was you were snogging before me."

"Is that so?"

"Mm-hmm," Merlin mumbled. He fumbled around for the cup Arthur had just poured, his fingers poking at it until he'd turned the cup far enough to grab the handle. "I'll always have a funny story to tell, anyway."

"Right. Like the one where someone chucked a tomato at your head?"

"Everyone's a critic," he said, his words muffled by the mug as he held it to his nose and inhaled the scent. Arthur held his breath, waiting for the reaction. Merlin smiled, a light shining in his half-open eyes. He took a sip and stopped dead, the blissed out expression on his face telling Arthur that he had nailed the coffee-making that morning.

Inwardly, he cheered. Outwardly, he grabbed the toast and nudged Merlin toward the table. "So how did the writing go? Was it worth staying up until three a.m. for?"

For a moment, Arthur thought Merlin hadn't heard him. He just sat there with the cup cradled in both hands, eyes closed, with the sort of look on his face Arthur normally only saw in bed. "You still awake?"

"Yeah," Merlin said dreamily as he sipped the coffee. "Yeah, it was good. Great. Got to the part where the peasant boy finds the dragon that chained up below the castle, and the dragon tells him all about his destiny. Well, part of his destiny, anyway. Because dragons are manipulative, and they'll only give out the sort of information that benefits them in the end."

"That dragon sounds like an arse."

"A bit of one, yeah. But they're like that. There's that saying, after all. ' _Never meddle in the affairs of dragons, for you are crunchy and taste good dipped in chocolate_.'" Merlin nabbed a piece of toast, oblivious to the images that had popped into Arthur's mind at the thought of Merlin being dipped in chocolate. Perhaps not entirely coated. Just being drizzled with syrup would be good enough. Better than that, even.

He cleared his throat. "I'll keep that in mind if I see any dragons. In the meantime, has the boy met the prince yet?"

"Oh, yeah," Merlin said. "They had a fight in the square, and the boy was put in the stocks. That's where he met the maid. There's still a long way to go, but I made a lot of progress. It's going to be good."

"Until you get to the part where you hate everything about it, and I have to listen to you complaining about how being a writer is such a terrible fate.

Merlin scowled through a big bite of toast. "I don't complain," he said, covering his mouth with his hand.

"You complain all the time. The worst was when you were about halfway through that book review. I took you to dinner to get you out of the flat for a while, and you could talk about was how stupid the book was, and how much you loathed writing that article," Arthur said.

"I hated writing that. Literary criticism is a pain in the arse."

"Even when it's a fantasy novel?"

"Especially that," Merlin grumbled. He took another sip of coffee to chase his grouchiness away. "Having to read a six-hundred page book when you hate every word of it is not a fun proposition."

"It's your profession. If you'd wanted fun, you should have joined the circus."

Merlin glanced up over the brim of his cup, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Feels like I have sometimes. There's this clown I live with, after all…" He giggled and ducked the bread crust Arthur threw at his him.

"A clown, am I? We'll see who's laughing when I tell Morgana you'd cast her as the evil witch in your little story if they ever made it into a movie."

Merlin shoved the last of his toast into his mouth and brushed the crumbs off his sleeve. It was one of Arthur's old t-shirts, worn nearly to translucence and too big for Merlin, thought that didn't stop him from wearing it. "She'd be thrilled. Morgana might pretend to be all sweetness and light, but there's a part of her that wants to be the evil queen. You can see it in her eyes."

"Can you? I'll be sure to watch for that when we see her in about..." Arthur glanced at his watch, "twenty minutes."

"What? Why?" Merlin sputtered, half-choking on a sip of coffee.

"Brunch. She's taking us out, remember? I told you about it on Friday."

"Why didn't you wake me up earlier? I would have had time to get ready and shower and put shoes on!" If Merlin hadn't been awake before he was now, all wide eyes squared shoulders. "I always feel like a scruffy idiot around her."

"I tried to wake you up, Sleeping Beauty, but apparently I wasn't the right prince." Arthur said back in the chair, arms folded, and an eyebrow raised. "You slept through everything I did. More's the pity. We could have had some fun this morning, but nooo."

Merlin down the last of his coffee in one go and scrubbed his hands over his face. "Well try harder next time," he said absently. "I'm going to go get a shower. I'll be down in a few."

Arthur bit his lip, not mentioning that he had been trying hard- in every sense of the word- and Merlin wasn't helping with his unintentionally suggestive phrases. That was the problem with dating a writer. Words and phrases took on new lives and new meanings, and the imagery they inspired ranged from childish to explicit. When it was the two of them, alone, Arthur's mind rolled right into the gutter.

He had half a mind to join Merlin in the shower to show him all the variations a phrase like 'trying hard' could mean.

He cleaned up the kitchen instead. If Morgana came in to find herself alone downstairs, she would march right into the bathroom, regardless of what what- or who- her little brother was doing, and give him a piece of her mind for making her wait. Morgana did love her drama.

' _Best not to tempt fate,_ ' he decided as he put the dishes in the sink and tossed the used up coffee grounds in the bin. There would be time for things like that later, when they wouldn't be in danger of having someone walk in on them.

Fifteen minutes later Merlin dashed down the stairs, fully dressed and alert, with still-damp hair, coat in hand, and his shoes laced up. He stopped in front of Arthur and grinned before kissing him hard on the mouth, a slow, lingering thing that turned Arthur's knees to rubber and would have had him on the floor if it had gone on much longer.

"What…?" Arthur took a breath. "What was that for?"

Merlin held up a finger. "One, the coffee. It was pretty much perfect. Two, you are the right prince for me, your royal prat-ness. Don't ever doubt that." He took Arthur's hand and tugged him toward the door. "Now let's go and see what sort of trouble Morgana has in store for us."


	2. Tis the Season

2\. "'Tis the Season" - It's the most wonderful time of the year, until Merlin gets fed up with Christmas shopping.

* * *

"What about this one?"

Merlin did an admirable job of not heaving a massive, irritated sigh at Arthur's question. Or of not rolling his eyes, crossing his arms and glaring. And he didn't walk out of the shop altogether. He had to count every victory, no matter how small, when he went shopping with Arthur.

"It's nice. It's a pretty color. It'll suit her just fine."

Arthur rolled his eyes, as though he was mocking Merlin's restraint. "' _It'll suit her just fine.'_ Really, Merlin. Have you _met_ Morgana? She's particular about… everything. You don't get something that's just 'alright'. You get her something better than that. Much better.'

"I know," Merlin muttered. "What do I think of that scarf? I think it's almost the same shade of red as the lipstick she always wears, and that's the sort of pattern I see on all the fashionable girls walking down the street. I also think that it doesn't matter what scarf or earrings or whatever you get her, because Morgana is gorgeous all by herself. You could give her a towel to wear to her next event, and she'd look amazing."

"But-"

"But what?!" Merlin couldn't keep that behind his teeth, but he did stop his voice from rising too loudly. "Arthur, we've been Christmas shopping all day long. I know you like to spoil Morgana with just about every pretty thing you can find, but I'm tired, I'm thirsty, and I want to sit down. If you want my advice, get her the scarf. I think she'll like it. But I am going to go find some some coffee or something, alright?"

"Um. Okay." Arthur's eyes had gone puppy-dog wide, and he finally blinked, clutching the scarf to his chest like the silk would provide him armor against an attack.

Guilt immediately stabbed Merlin in the gut. "Don't look like that," he pleaded. "It's not you, it's all the shopping and the lights and all the _stuff_. I just need a break from it. I have my phone on me. Text me when you're done, and I'll come find you, okay?"

"Okay," Arthur said. The deer in the headlights look was fading, and a small, sheepish smile had appeared on his face.

Merlin still felt guilty, though. He leaned in and gave Arthur a quick, apologetic kiss before winding his way around clothing racks and other shoppers on his quest for a quality coffee shop.

He found one and settled down with a mocha, content to sit somewhere out of the way and spend a few minutes people-watching. It was preferable to spending a sixth hour Christmas shopping, even if it was with Arthur. But even the fashionable Londoners couldn't hold Merlin's attention for long, because his mind kept turning his words to Arthur around and around in his head, worrying at it like a dog with a bone while he tried to figure out how he could have done that better. He should have said something like, 'yes it's beautiful, buy it and we can go get dinner', or any number of other things that didn't make him sound like a petulant child. Arthur didn't deserve that. None of it was Arthur's fault, after all.

This kind of extended Christmas shopping was new to Merlin. His excursions had always amounted to a few quick trips to a bookshop or to a shop that sold the kind of inexpensive costume jewelry that Freya liked. Ten quid here for Will and Freya, twenty quid there for his mum and Gaius. Some chocolates to sweeten things up. Nothing fancy.

He couldn't afford fancy.

Merlin was familiar with the poor kid tropes people joked about on the telly- handmade jumpers, fuzzy hats, and fudge that didn't turn out quite right but tasted good in spite of it. That had been his life, after all. Growing up, Christmas had meant a cheap tree from the back of the lot with needles that fell off and refused to come up from the carpet no matter how often mum vacuumed. Decorations that were older than Merlin himself, except the one from his first Christmas. The old star on top of the tree that Merlin had always set in place after his dad lifted him up- until Balinor died, and Merlin had to use a chair instead. Apple cider, and peppermint hot chocolate, and staying up far too late because he was too excited to sleep.

That was what Christmas meant to him- time with his family and his friends, and not so much with the gifts, though he knew his parents had scrimped and saved to buy him the toys and the books his child's heart desired

Christmas with the Pendragons was a different beast altogether. Merlin had had his first sight of it the year before, when he had walked into the mansion to find a richly decorated tree situated between two grand staircases, sparkling with thousands of lights, and reaching a ceiling nearly thirty feet tall.

And the tree was just the beginning. Between the food and the wine, the parade of gifts, and the music and overly shiny things everywhere, Merlin had found himself suffering from sensory overload and retreated to the guest bedroom that had been set aside just for him. He had never felt like so much of an outsider.

Nearly two hours passed before Arthur came and found him curled up in bed, half-asleep with a book in hand and the comforter pulled up to his ears like he was six years old. Arthur had laid down next to Merlin and wrapped his arms around him.

' _It is a bit much, isn't it?'_ Arthur had asked. _'This is the way Christmas has always been around here. I'm not sure who my father is trying to impress with all of it.'_

It certainly wasn't Merlin. He and Arthur had been dating for six months by then, and Merlin was pretty sure Uther still didn't know his name.

Their shared flat didn't have nearly the grandiosity of Uther's mansion, but the Christmas spirit was still in full force, with the tree dripping with ornaments, lights all about, stockings over the fireplace, and more holiday music than Merlin could stand. It was enough to make him want to pull the lights down on the twenty-third, having declared them to be 'Solstice lights' that had served their holiday function and could go away now.

But it made Arthur happy, and Arthur made Merlin happy. There would be some kind of cycle there if he ever bothered to look into it.

"How's the coffee here?"

Merlin looked up sharply. Arthur stood on the opposite side of the little table, shopping bags in one hand and a coffee cup in the other. There was an uncertain look in his eyes.

"It's fine," Merlin said quickly. "I think the barista put half a tin of cocoa in it, though. It's… chocolatey."

"I don't mind that," Arthur said as he pulled the chair out and sat down. "Look, about earlier-"

"It was my fault," Merlin interrupted. "That was all me being, well, me. You know, oversensitive to stupid stuff and prone to grumpiness. I shouldn't have left like that. I'm sorry."

"No, that was all on me. I knew you didn't like all this," he waved at the shopping mall around them with its too-bright lights, decorations, music, and people everywhere. "But I didn't even think about it when I dragged you out of the house this morning and proceeded to take you to shop after shop. We should have gone home ages ago."

"It's alright."

"No, it's not alright. I know better than this. I should've asked if you were feeling okay, and I didn't. That's on me." Arthur took his hand and squeezed it, and somehow that made half of Merlin's tiredness fall away. "What say we get out of here, get some pizza on the way home and see if we can find something decent on TV?"

"I can live with that," Merlin smiled. He bent to grab the bags that Arthur's hadn't collected in his first pass. He was tempted to toss the rest of his mocha so he could be extra close to Arthur until they left the mall, but Arthur had hardly sipped his own drink and wasn't inclined to throw it away. Oh well. Perhaps there would be nothing to watch, and they would have to make their own fun…

"Glad to hear it," Arthur's grin could have lit a thousand Christmas trees by itself. "Now come on. Let's go home."


	3. All Through the House

3\. "All Through the House" - It's Christmas Eve, and something is out of place in the Pendragon/Emrys household.

* * *

'Twas the night before Christmas and Arthur was wide awake. The living room was lit by the white lights in the tree, giving the place a magical look. He wouldn't have been surprised to peer out the window and find snow falling. Or a big red sleigh pulled by eight tiny reindeer. But there was only a quiet, night-shrouded London street outside, and a tastefully decorated Christmas tree inside.

And Merlin, asleep on the couch with his nose in a book like a six-year old waiting up for Santa Claus to appear.

His absence had woken Arthur, an odd turn of events given his history with previous bedmates- a few one-night pulls and a trio of longer term flings, none of whom he'd been able to fall asleep with. Then Merlin came along, and sleeping beside him had been as easy as breathing. So natural that the lack of him felt unnatural, an abnormal occurrence that needed to be righted before life could move on.

"Merlin?" Arthur touched him on the shoulder, said his name again when the sleeper didn't awaken. "Merlin? Are you going to stay out here all night?"

Merlin stirred and made a noise deep in his throat, a questioning sound that had nothing to do with wakefulness. The book slid closer to the edge. Arthur rescued it before it fell, though the drop could hardly hurt the battered old copy of _The Return of the King_. It was part of the set Merlin's mother bought him when he was eleven. It had come a long way before finding a place of honor next to the thrillers Arthur bought but never managed to read.

Those shelves reflected the two of them, Merlin's battered classics next to Arthur's untouched bestsellers. Merlin's vintage ornaments hanging next to Arthur's shiny new ones. They were opposites. What they had together shouldn't have worked. And yet it did. As easy as breathing.

Arthur tugged the blanket off the back of the couch and draped it over Merlin. It wouldn't quite cover him from head to toe, but it would keep him warm enough if he spent all night out here. He sighed in his sleep and curled up tighter, his long fingers wrapping around the blanket's edge. Arthur smiled and brushed a hand over Merlin's hair before his own restlessness drew him to the tree.

A few ornaments were out of place. Gwaine had most likely moved them, or Morgana had, disrupting the order that Arthur had established on the tree. He had meant to create a perfect blend of Merlin's ornaments- the ones that Hunith had sent him- and his own, turning the tree into a sort of metaphor of their relationship that no one else seemed to get it. Gwaine was too busy turning anything that mentioned 'The First Noel' into 'The First Leon', and Morgana just liked to be irritating when she was tipsy.

It only took a few minutes to put them back in place. The crocheted snowflake, the glass stars, and the little wooden nutcracker. Everything where it was supposed to be, from the Weeping Angel tree topper to the shining packages below. Arthur's and Hunith's were haphazardly wrapped, and he was hard-pressed to tell if Merlin's spidery scrawl said, 'Arthur' or 'Arwen'. Either one was as likely as the other.

Arthur's biggest gift to Merlin hardly fit under the tree. Computer boxes were never small, no matter how sleek and thin the gadget inside was. He had already transferred Merlin's files onto the new machine and set the desktop background with the same picture as the old one. He'd even tracked down most of the stickers Merlin had adorned the old computer with.

Now came the nerve-wracking part of gift giving: finding out whether the recipient appreciated the gift or not. Would Merlin like the new computer, or would he see it as an attempt to buy the love he freely gave?

He hoped it was the former. Artists of all stripes needed the proper tools, and after an autumn spent hearing Merlin griping about the old laptop's myriad problems, Arthur had decided to play patron. Money was for spending, after all, and his father had always lectured him on the value of wise investments. Besides, if Merlin had a working computer, he'd be able to keep writing the stories that had captured Arthur's heart in the first place.

"Arthur? What're you doing? And what time is it?" Merlin's voice was thick with sleep, the blanket barely clinging to his shoulders as he sat up. He looked the part of the disheveled writer, blinking owlishly, his hair a tousled mess.

"Just fixing the tree. And it's a little after two," Arthur said, grinning. "I thought you were going to sleep out here all night. What were you doing? Waiting up for Santa Claus?"

"I was reading. Fell asleep," Merlin said. He felt around for the book and clutched it to his chest like a talisman.

"Obviously. Do you want to come to bed, or are you happy there on the couch?"

Merlin rubbed his eyes. "Bed's good. I like bed. I don't think the reindeer are going to show up anyway," he said, a cheeky smile spreading across his face. He reached a hand out for Arthur to pull him up and lead him to their bedroom, but dug his heels in and stopped before they stepped out of the room.

"I thought you wanted to go to bed," Arthur said, raising an eyebrow at Merlin's sudden stubbornness.

"In a minute," Merlin said. "But first, look up."

"What?" Arthur looked up. "Oh."

A little sprig of mistletoe was tacked to the doorframe above them. Whether it was real or plastic, Arthur couldn't tell in the darkness. It hardly mattered. He was standing right under it, and Merlin's eyes were shining and deep, and their kiss was as good as every Christmas morning he'd ever had. He hated when it ended.

They stayed close, basking in each other's warmth and the soft light and not moving until Merlin brushed his lips against Arthur's cheek. "Merry Christmas, love," he whispered in his ear.

"Merry Christmas."


	4. The Morning After the Night Before

4\. "The Morning After the Night Before" - Arthur might have had a little too much to drink on New Year's Eve...

* * *

 _Aspirin?_

Check.

 _One glass of water?_

Check

 _Toast?_

Check, but perhaps not necessary.

Still, Merlin placed the plate with the three slices- toasted to that perfect shade of golden brown and slathered with just a bit of butter- on the tray and crept down the hall, listening. There were certain sounds he didn't want to hear coming from the bedroom. Or the bathroom. All was quiet on both fronts, though, save for the rustling of blankets. And maybe a bit of a whimper.

"Still alive in there?" Merlin asked. He pushed the door open with his foot, being careful not to let too much light in. Lucky thing that their bedroom was on the west side of the flat. It would have been worse if the morning sun could shine in. "Arthur?"

"Mmmfgh." A bit of blond hair emerged from the blankets, followed by a hand sliding up the edge of a pillow. Merlin prepared to dodge in case it came flying at his head, but the hand fell off the pillow and onto the bed where it remained, unmoving.

Merlin smiled. A hungover Arthur was a rare sight, and dealing with him demanded caution and humor in equal measures. "I brought you something for your head."

"Better be a hammer," Arthur mumbled. "Put me out of my misery."

"Nothing like that," Merlin said. "How about a glass of water and some aspirin instead? Maybe some toast?"

A pair of bloodshot blue eyes came into view and squinted up at Merlin. "No to the toast. I'll consider the others. Later." Arthur drew the blankets back over his face and squirmed about, curling up tighter.

Merlin rested the tray against his hip and set the toast on the nightstand, then the water and the aspirin, all in the order Arthur would reach for them. If Arthur ever decided to take them. "I don't usually like to say 'I told you so'," Merlin said conversationally, "but, ah. I told you so. Maybe this will be a lesson for you, so in the future, when Morgana asks if you want to try some new drink she's come up with, you'll be smart about it and say no. I hope the flavor was worth it."

"Nooo," Arthur groaned. He sighed and flipped the blankets away from his shoulders. That was the end of the progress. "She said she'd drink one, too."

"Yeah, well, she drank something else, because she was chipper as a songbird while I was pouring you into the car to bring you home," Merlin chuckled and shook his head. Morgana's drink had looked the same as the concoction she'd given to Arthur, but Merlin had a feeling that the ingredients were drastically different. "You should know by now that when she has that little smile on her face that she has something evil in mind. Even I know that, and I haven't known her that long. You grew up with her."

"She's usually nice." Arthur rubbed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. It stuck up at odd angles, lending him a boyish charm that was not lessened by the stubble on his jaw. "Easy to forget that she can be mean."

"Well, you won't forget now," Merlin said. "Come on. Take the aspirin, drink the water, and try to eat some toast. It's just the way you like it. Except maybe cold by now."

"Why would I want cold toast?"

"It wouldn't be cold if you'd eaten it right away," Merlin said. "Sit up. You're not going to feel better if you just lie there feeling sorry for yourself."

Arthur leveled a glare at him, but the effect was dampened by his bloodshot eyes and spiky hair. He looked like sullen teenager who'd been woken up too early on a weekend morning. "Fine," he grumped, inching his way up into a seated position with his back against the headboard.

Merlin handed the water and aspirin over, keeping an eye on Arthur's shaking hands in case he tried to drop the glass. "Are you going to make it?"

"Maybe." Arthur leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "Don't think I've been hungover like this since University. It's a terrible idea. Don't ever let me do it again."

"I tried last night, but once Morgana handed you that glass all bets were off," Merlin said. He took the glass back and set it on the nightstand.

"Did I say anything stupid?" He made an aborted attempt to sit up straight, winced, and sagged back. "Did I _do_ anything stupid? Last night's sort of a… blur."

"For one," Merlin held up a finger to start ticking off Arthur's offenses, "you told Freya she was really very pretty, and that if you weren't gay, you'd take her home in a minute. She was quite flattered. And laughing at you, but she was flattered. I can tell."

Arthur groaned and cracked an eye open. "Did I really say that?"

"Yes, you did. And there's more."

"Of course there is." He put a hand over his eyes and waited.

"Apparently, you got a little confused about who was who. When midnight rolled around you kissed Gwaine instead of me," Merlin said, doing his best to keep the smile off his face and the laughter out of his voice.

"Oh, god…" Arthur whimpered. "Did I really?"

"You did. He was thrilled. If he wasn't mostly straight, I might have some competition."

Arthur covered his face with both hands. "What the hell did I do that for?"

"I'm not sure. We both have dark hair?" Merlin shrugged. "You weren't making much sense at the time. Not that you ever make much sense, but last night was especially nonsensical. Still, you kept your trousers on and you didn't throw up on either me or the car, so we'll call it a win."

"I don't feel like a winner."

"You don't look like one right now, either." A minute or two passed quietly, the Merlin asked, "Think you can stand up? Get to the bathroom to brush your teeth and maybe think about a shower?"

"What do I win if I make it there?" he looked up at Merlin, peeking between his fingers. It made him look unbearably cute, despite his bloodshot eyes.

"I'm sure I could come up with something fun," Merlin answered, a sly smile spreading across his face. He stood, flipped the blankets aside, and held his hands out for Arthur.

He took them and stood up with only a little shakiness. A few deep breaths followed before Arthur opened his eyes and looked at Merlin. "You know, this year hasn't gotten off to a very good start."

Merlin grinned and kissed him on the cheek. "Don't worry. It'll get better. Now let's get you to the shower, and then we'll find out what this year has in store for us."


	5. Impractical Magic

_The rules of magic are never easy, especially when you're making them up as you go along._

* * *

"Merlin, what _are_ you doing?" Arthur paused mid-motion, his fingers still on the buttons of his coat. He tilted his head, expression quizzical.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Merlin looked up from his task and wiped his face with a grimy hand, leaving a dark smudge on his cheek. "I'm cleaning the oven."

"Yes, but why? You don't cook, and the only time I've seen you open that door is when I've asked you to take something out so it doesn't burn." His fingers untangled themselves and he finished unbuttoning the coat and draped it over a chair.

"The last time you made something you said it was dirty, and I wasn't doing anything important so I figured I'd go ahead and just clean the thing up so you wouldn't have to. You always complain about these things," Merlin said. He swiped at the last bit of black on the oven door and stood up, his knees cracking.

"That's very thoughtful of you."

Merlin shrugged. "It's nice to do nice things for people now and then."

"And I appreciate it," Arthur said. "But why are you procrastinating?"

The bright expression fell away from Merlin's face, turning into a scowl he couldn't hide behind a glass of water. "Well, it's the magic, isn't it?" he finally said.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "What magic?"

"For the stories. When you're building a fantasy world and there's magic involved, you have to build in rules for magic. Otherwise there are no consequences or costs or anything like that, and your spell-casters might as well be like gods, right?"

"Um, right." Arthur grabbed a clean rag and dabbed at the smudge on Merlin's face before he could wander off and forget about it. "I thought you had that all sorted out."

"I thought I did, but now I'm not so sure. I mean, why would their eyes glow when they cast a spell? And why do some spells need words, and some don't? And if the magic-users of this world were so strong and there were so many of them, then how did the king's mundane army manage to annihilate them? There are so many things that don't make sense about what I've already put down on paper, and I feel like I can't make any more progress unless I get it all straightened out." Merlin scrubbed his hands over his face and through his hair, transferring more of the oven grime onto his skin.

Arthur waited out the rant, barely managing to keep the smile off his face. This was obviously a big deal to Merlin, and telling him that he looked adorable with the dark smudge on his nose and wild hair wouldn't help. Arthur caught Merlin's wrists and folded his hands around them to still the wild gestures. "Calm down, love. We'll get this sorted, but you should wash your hands first. And then maybe your face."

Merlin spread his hands wide and winced. "My hands are gross. How did I not notice that?" He slipped out of Arthur's grasp and bee-lined for the sink.

"Did you make any progress, then?" he asked. "In figuring out your laws of magic, I mean. I don't care about the oven."

"Maybe?" Merlin shrugged. The running water almost drowned out his answer. "I guess simple spells wouldn't need to be vocalised. If you're just trying to move something small or doing something you've done a million times, you wouldn't need to speak to focus your power. You could just do it without thinking, like how you can walk through the house without turning the lights on."

"That makes sense." Arthur handed him a towel. "What about the glowing eyes?"

"I'm not so concerned about that. It was something unique when I dreamed it up," Merlin said. "I suppose it's the outer manifestation of the power within. Eyes are the windows to the soul, after all."

"And the language? What direction did you take on that?"

"Old English," Merlin said.

"I thought these stories were based on Welsh tales?"

"Yeah, but people still speak Welsh. No one speaks Old English anymore." He plopped down in the dining room chair by his computer, but didn't open it.

"It sounds like you have everything straight, then," Arthur said.

"Mostly, I guess. I suppose. And if something changes later on, I can come back and make changes. That's what rough drafts are for," Merlin said. He tapped his fingers on the laptop.

"Then what's standing in your way?" Arthur put his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his folded hands.

"Starting."

"I thought you'd already started?"

"I have started. It's the starting again that's the problem," Merlin said, scowling down at the laptop. "A new story, new day, new paragraph. Starting always sucks."

Arthur resisted the urge to reach across the table and smooth away the worry lines deepening on Merlin's forehead. "How about this- I'll order something for delivery, and while we're waiting for it to get here, you work on the story. Then we'll eat, and after that you'll work for another hour or two, and we'll do something else. We'll play that video game you like or something."

"What is this, a bribe?" Merlin asked. A faint, shy smile tugged at his lips.

"Maybe it is," Arthur said as he reached for his mobile, "but if it works, it works, right?"

"I suppose it does," Merlin said as he stretched his fingers and opened the laptop. "Let's get to work."


End file.
